


When an Angel curses, His Demon Grins

by TheDemonCrowley



Series: The Care and Keeping of your Bratty Angel [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caretaking, Consensual Kink, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light BDSM, M/M, Post apoca-wasn't, Punishment, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Top Crowley (Good Omens), mouth soaping, washing mouth out with soap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 15:21:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20211952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDemonCrowley/pseuds/TheDemonCrowley
Summary: Aziraphale has a potty mouth and deserves to be punished for it.Crowley delivers.





	When an Angel curses, His Demon Grins

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't soap your submissive's (or ANYONE'S) mouth out with soap.
> 
> I tagged m/m because that's how they present in the show but they're genderless/all genders so...

"Oh fuck!" Crowley hears Aziraphale yelp, followed by the sound of his angel-wing mug shattering into a million porcelain shards. [1]

Crowley looks at the mug, then at Aziraphale, who's frozen, shoulders tense. He stands from his lounge across the couch, putting his Valentino sunglasses on and watching as his Angel thinks about what he did He snaps, bringing his hand up from the bottom to the top, and the mug is whole on the ground at Aziraphale's feet. Aziraphale picks it up and carefully places it on the table.

"Angel."

Crowley hears him audibly gulp.

"Angel, look at me." The angel turns around slowly, hands clasped on his stomach, fidgeting as he avoids Crowley's eyes._"Aziraphale." _ [2] Aziraphale reluctantly looks him in the eyes. "Go to the kitchen."

"But-"

"We've talked about this." Aziraphale trudges to the kitchen, shoulders hunched as Crowley follows him. He reaches under the sink for the special bottle the have that's only for this purpose, a mild  [3] unscented  [4] soap. "Sit." Crowley snaps and one of their dinner table chairs slides it's way across the floor to sit beside the sink.

Aziraphale sits, hands clasped between his legs as he watches Crowley grab the rest of what he needs. He takes down two glasses from the cabinet, one being filled with plain water and set aside. He puts a teaspoon sized amount of soap into the glass, fills it up a third of the way from the tap, swirling it around with the spoon until it's dispersed enough. 

"Why am I punishing you?" Crowley asks mildly, lightly clanking the spoon against the rim of the glass before placing it in the sink.

"Because I cursed." Aziraphale says quietly.

"And what did we agree on in regards to cursing?" Crowley looks at him over the top of his glasses.

"That it's not fitting for a Principality."

"Correct. It isn't." Crowley gently cups the back of Aziraphale's head with one hand, long, black-painted [5] fingers threading through the soft, [6] white, curls, his wedding ring cool against his scalp. "You know what to do if you want to stop?"  [7].

Aziraphale nodded, hands tightening to fists on his thighs as Crowley tilted the glass until his mouth was full of the soap mixture. His face scrunched up, uncomfortable with the taste in his delicate palate.

"Swish." Crowley did a vague curly-cue in the air as an indication, stepping away from him to watch his discomfort. "Breathe through your nose, you're supposed to taste it Angel."

Aziraphale squirmed in the chair, tears pricking his eyes as he did as he was told, watching Crowley who had his arms crossed over his chest, leaning on one hip against the sink.

"Spit." He held the glass under Aziraphale's mouth, who spit into it. Crowley used his thumb to wipe the side of his mouth, dumping and setting the glass into the sink. "Come rinse." Aziraphale stood quickly, the second glass of water was pressed into his hands by Crowley. He rinsed and spit until the taste was as gone as it could be.  [8]

Crowley opens his arms for his Angel to step into, soothingly rubbing his back as Aziraphale sniffles into the front of his shirt. "You did very well Angel." Crowley murmurs into his hair, Aziraphale's hands twisted up in the back of his shirt. He lets his Angel cry quietly until he calms down, letting out one last sniffle. He pulls back a little to look at Crowley, eyes and nose red, face wet with tears.

"Thank you." Crowley cups his husbands face in his hands, wiping the tears away with his thumbs.

"Of course, Love." Crowley gives him a small smile. "Tea?"

Aziraphale nodded, pressed a kiss to Crowley's wrist as he pulled away.

"Darjeeling?" [9]

"Please?"

" 'course." Crowley smiles softly at him, taking his glasses off and setting them to the side. He putters around the kitchen as he makes Aziraphale's tea, leading him out into their living room to sit on their squishy, black leather, sofa  [10], Aziraphale curling up in his lap. He slowly slips his tea as Crowley rubs his back, TV turned on to something random, volume down low so it's just a murmur of voices to fill the silence. Aziraphale finishes his tea and settles further into Crowley's lap, lulled into the safety of them, of their side. He covers Crowley's left hand with his own, their wedding rings quietly clacking together as he slides his fingers through Crowley's.

"I love you." Aziraphale squeezes his hand.

"And I love you." Crowley says in response, squeezing Aziraphale's fingers between his own.

The rest of the night is quiet and soft, and Crowley puts his angel to bed, curls up around his Angel and waits for sleep to take him.

He's never been happier about the prospect of eternity, when it's spent with the one he loves, his husband, the light of his life.

Crowley dozes off with a smile on his face and his nose pressed into white curls.

**Author's Note:**

> 1His favorite mug, one Crowley had found in a kitschy little gift shop in London in 2012. [return to text]  
2Aziraphale thinks fuck and Crowley looks at him like he knows the word crossed his mind. [return to text]  
3Still, incredibly unpleasant. [return to text]  
4Crowley refers to it as "unflavored" much to Aziraphale's chagrin.[return to text]  
5Ever since grunge was big Crowley has almost always had them painted.[return to text]  
6Not quite as soft as Aziraphale's down feathers.[return to text]  
7One of the miracles Crowley had performed when covering for Aziraphale had been creating the culture that values explicit consent in the BDSM and kink community. Heaven certainly had questions for the Angel when they found out, but after reviewing it found it was not a frivolous miracle.[return to text]  
8Of course, he could miracle it away but it defeated the entire purpose of them doing this.[return to text]  
9Aziraphale likes a light, delicate flavor to wash out the lingering taste of the soap. Darker, richer teas enhance the bitterness of the flavor.[return to text]  
10A compromise of their wants and needs as well as aesthetics. [return to text]  



End file.
